Monday, November 28, 2011

"Suicide is the biggest killer of men under the age of 35 in the UK, and seventy five percent of all suicides in the UK are male."
Not saying this for shock value, but I knew 4 men under the age of 40 who took their lives this year. One of whom was a very very close friend. And since the sports man Gary Speed passed last week, there has been a outpouring addressing the state of minds of men who suffer from depression. An article came to my attention from the CALM campaign - Campaign Against Living Miserably.

click to enlarge

The reason I was drawn to this article is because of its reference to roles men and women have to endure, imposed upon them by "society", whatever that is these days. But whatever it is, it is taking lives as more and more men find it hard to be the square jawed, strong silent types that are apparently what they are (still)?!) expected to be.

Jane Powell, Chief Exec of CALM, raises the issue of the role of feminism and male depression in a very condensed and simplistic way but enough to rouse your interest in in the CALM website, the campaign and enough to make me want to unpack why a global patriarchal system is failing its subjects, aside from propagating much unrest all over the planet that is linked to profit driven and uber-individualistic idioms. Or maybe the three are closely connected: as men are expected to still bring home proverbial bacon and other miscellaneous shiny things, they become a tad resentful of women and their "constant noise" (not my words) for equality, and women still expect men to open doors for them.

In the meantime, we all suffer traumas and distressing experiences that we need to talk about, that we need advice on how to cope with. Then with expansion of urbanisation and globalisation, the intensity of technology and the white noise of the information age leave us with little or next to no time for introspective, reflective thought, as the demand for our attention is constant and persistent. Some find ourselves in a habit of filling a need to be awake 24/7 in case we miss the next hot topic or an opportunity to buy the upgrade of a 'shiny thing'. When we do stand still a moment, the noise can be deafening. Find something - a ritual, an addiction, SOMETHING - to squash it: alcohol, drugs, sex, partying... how many of us have been appalled by the behaviour of the young people we see on the BBC's "The Worlds Most Strictest Parent?"

The turbulence caused by conflicting emotions when maintaining an 'I can handle it' exterior, means the burden of silence builds and compresses within hearts and minds. It shadows the spirit, undermines the psyche and the wounds seep and begin to manifest themselves as misery, lethargy, pessimism, an anger that you cannot put your finger on and finally, for some, a hopeless desperation that appears to leave no other option except ending the torment by taking steps to stop the beating of the ailing heart. I can only come to wonder where we are headed in the ever raging gender equality dispute. Janet Powell says:

"We should indeed take a long, hard look at society and question some assumptions. Women now have full permission to be just who they want to be. We can be a stay at home mum or a city banker, with or without a family...."

"If you flip that picture, and ask if men can do all of those things – in the way that women can – then the answer is no...."

And when the pressures get too much: "To lose control mentally and emotionally can/must/should only be done in a proper manly way."

What is that? - "a proper manly way"?

Ultimately, the whole globe is in transition as we come to a zenith in the need for self-awareness, or else get swallowed up in the myriad of identities forced up on us by mainstream media and intrusive bolshie ad campaigns telling you will never be happy unless... and when you don't meet that unobtainable standard of femininity or masculinity - designed to be unattainable so you keep buying - you are left with guilt, inadequacy and a struggling self-esteem.
It is the peak of the 500 year capitalist campaign and there is only one way it can go from here.

For one day, one WHOLE day, I challenge you ,while you go about you everyday business, to consciously look around and see how and what types of images of masculinity and femininity are pushed in our faces at every corner, bus stop, tv ad, sitcom, in our language and even in your own home.
And while there are plenty who die at the hands of profit-driven-gotta-have-it greed in the guise of a"democracy" hailing liberal personal freedom and individualism through wars abroad, at home there are many who silently suffer from isolation caused by the pressure of insidiously forced gender roles. In the age of the metro-sexual male and predatory Cougars, we can no longer push aside how gender socialization and sexual colonization, as crazy as it may sound, is killing people.

Friday, October 7, 2011

I interviewed Hope McIntyre, the Artistic Director of Sarasvati Productions and the driving force behind Femfest. Where other festivals with women at their focus have died out in Canada, the drive and determination of Sarasvati and all its volunteers, has Femfest striding in its ninth year.

Hope is herself a playwright, hence her passion and is at present developing a new theatre piece called "Jail Baby". Hope Kindly sentthe opening monologue:

Spotlight on Jasmine, about 8 months pregnant. As she speaks she changes into Remand Centre issue clothes.

JASMINE: They say you can’t remember that far back – back to being born. Maybe I don’t remember, but if I close my eyes, I can feel the concrete against my slippery little body. I feel metal. I have nightmares of sliding out into a world of bars and cold and noise and suffocation. It’s like something I can’t escape. Born to be in prison. Born a prisoner. Sounds like a bad country song. Even worse, I became known as the toilet bowl baby. Now there’s a good song title. If only someone had taught me to play guitar, I could be traveling the world telling my sorry tale. I’d record an album in Memphis and they’d make a movie about me. (now fully dressed in prison garb, she looks down at herself) I’m just fulfilling my destiny. This is what my mom was wearing when I was born. I’m my mom 18 years later.

I asked Hope what were her future plans for Jail Baby:"In terms of the plans, we are doing rewrites this year and working towards a full production and publication in May 2013. Our goal is to produce it for the general public but then also take it on

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Eleven and home alonewith the turntable and the shiny liquorice platterplaying a setfor memories to be made treasures and cuckoo storiesof broken hearts, of lost things found,of courage liberatedthe triumphant fist of bluesthe spectrum of emotion played in those groovesonyx plates of Soul Food

Let's Get It On - big peoples music, it felt new
Marvin understood the expanse of a night for lovers hue and why did Anne watch and listen to the rain if it made her feel so blue?I would come to understand, as woman, laterbut I know something in my new soul movedas they crooned...

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

So in the theatre of the University of Winnipeg, Canada, I asked Steve, the lovely stagemanager, to film me doing a quick warm up of the introduction for Travelling Light.
It was a dramatized reading of the show that help me understand how far along the show is in it development.

Friday, September 30, 2011

At present I am sitting in a hotel room in downtown Winnipeg unable to sleep because of jet lag. Its 2.16am Canada time, 8.16am London time.
I am here because of FEMFEST – a festival of women playwrights and performers who battle hard to get their work produced because it is a very masculine dominated industry. Dare I say it, but a bit shameful?

Later, I intend to interview Hope McIntyre who set about making this possibility, for this festival to have life of 9 years when others have folded. I am privileged to be here because Hope took a risk. She saw some of my work on YouTube, Like the Travelling Light blog had a short conversation with me on the phone and spent her hard won funding money to get me on a plane to be artist in residence for the festival. I’m honoured. More to come…

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

So what do you think? Is the internet birthing and programming a generation of boys to men to be emotional dunces? Is this why we wonder where all the "good" men are.
But it's not about good men though is it really? It's about fully rounded men, functioning at their optimum as men. Those who have been integrated with all parts of themselves, that have been nurtured by a less flat screened world. It's not just about the hard edges of HD, but about the soft line of analogue, the slight straining of the eyes to try and make things out by filling in the gaps with the imagination. No, what the 'arousal addictive' world of the internet provides them with is shoot 'em up fully waxed and shaved, full frontal, in out flesh fests that have nothing to do with contacting the intimate part within that reaches out to connect and vibe with intimate realms and nuances of others. No wonder our young boys don't have the articulation to be 'nice' to girls.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

As the most strong-minded and beautiful business woman and Artist of colour in mainstream media (after Oprah),who makes highly consumable music and is rockinga blond weave, why should we care? Breaking down the Girls Run the World vid,we'll examine why the love/hate debate rages on.

On Tuesday, July 19, Zena Edwards, a renown spoken word artist, singer, playwright and actress invites you to take part in a critical discussion surrounding Beyonce's 'Run the World' video. This session will take a deep look at the themes, issues and controversy that has been surrounding Beyonce's video since its release.

Topics/issues covered in this session will include:
*Beyonce - a voice for strong women?

*How do women of all ages connect with Sis B?
*Images of the men in the video
*Sexuality and empowerment
*Popular culture and role models
*Mainstream media representations vs the individuals reality
*and much more......

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Erykah told me my bags were too heavy how did she know? i never told her but the cap fit too well so i started to unpack to unburden my shoulders so i could stand upright i wanted to turn the clock back or to do the next best thing i wanted to remember what it was like wanted to know what it felt like to be travelling light...

WHAT?

An exploration of Womanhood and empowerment in the

21st century and how it manifests in your own lives.

HOW?

Over 2 days of exciting discussion and debate, journal writing,
photography, drawing and scrap-boarding, we will unpack the
baggage around our sex that we carry around consciously and
subconsciously since we were girl toddlers.

WHY?

Why not? So we can ask questions "how much does your
gender really hold you back?"

Monday, June 27, 2011

After the advent of Chris Rocks movie “Good Hair” this poem kept the debate going in the UK.

The politics of hair affect all women around the globe. We are under constant pressure to be beautiful and to manipulate our outer appearance taking our focus away from engaging and empowering our inner world. The first place we can attack is our hair because it’s accessible and so malleable. But the world is fickle and making those changes will only put demands on us to reach a next level of perfection that will always be unattainable. Distracted again.

The trials for Black women though, is weighted in our historical confidence in our colour, as well as to our physical attributes and "failings". Our beauty is tied up in a hierarchy of concepts that start with how we value our African features at the foundation.

But how do we get to hating and obsessing about our hair so much? Let me give you a scenario. After a meal with a friend, he was picking his teeth telling me the one thing he cannot stand about black women (he dates white ones), is a busted up weave. I conspiratorially giggled a bit and let it slide because I didn't want to get in to the whole weave debate after such a nice meal. A few minutes later, I started commented on my own natural hair and pointed out "See that bit there? Just there?" He replied, "What, where its all picky picky?" He said it as if I just spit in his mouth. And there it was, out in the open - his disdain for my natural hair, dred on top, short at the the sides, with neat little 'pepper corn' curls, relegated to a cuss, to "picky picky" by a brother with the same textured hair as me.
Now, I'm not going to go on a 'he just hates himself and his mother', I want to deal with how he was a blatant example of contributing to the decreased confidence in self image for naturall ynappy headed women of colour, because it would not matter what I had on my head HE would've found fault. Part of his brain is imprisoned into

Thursday, June 23, 2011

These guys must have known they'd be putting themselves in the firing line for some serious ribbing but went for it anyway. I kinda respect that.

The "Dear Woman" youtube video made by a group of men who call themselves 'conscious men' has gone viral and is a collage of "conscious men" reading a manifesto of "consciousness" built around their belief of the sacredness and power of the Feminine. Since its upload, the responses that hate it go beyond passionate! Their youtube comments ability - disabled.

Some of the men who have blogged/vlogged in response think that their male counterparts in the vid are 'pussy begging' and trying to curry favour with women. Some responses to the 'dear woman' vid are ill-thought out justifying some of the aggresion that is meted out on women globally as , 'women made men this way!'
Are these riled guys are projecting what they know of themselves on to their 'conscious' brethren and are making wolf calls for 'real-man' masculinity who would chew up these "conscious men", all in the name of natural selection and getting a mate. But so what if a couple of guys want to speak out against the supression of women and fore Feminine acknowledgement and empowerment? And, if they don't like it, write your own manifesto, make your own video.

Then there are women blogging/vlogging who don't want to be patronised by some random self-appointed 'conscious' guy telling them how they honour their 'nurturing nature' and their innate ability to commune with 'Mother Earth. Oooo.... they really touched a nerve there.
The haters, male and female , are taking offense by

Saturday, June 18, 2011

These images are from Slut Walk London that walked th elength of Piccadilly and convened on Trafalgar's Square (under nelsons phallic column) on a fresh sunny day in London. As I stood with camera and hand held recoder in hand, I wondered what I had come. Was I wanting to be inspired, pumping my fists in the air every 20 seconds? Did I want to document a feminine utopian event that hopefully marked the new beginning of women of all class and cultures, standing up and speaking out against violence against women? Was I expecting a tirade of man-bashing speeches that was a call to arms?

What I got was common sense on a humanist level and wasn't disappointed as such, just hoping for even minor incendiary provokation. Not a bra burning but a something that made my heart beat a little faster. Not Beyonce's Girls Run The World war on Man but was some kind of Kali or Nzinga defiance

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Wow... Beyonce's new vid is rousing some interesting debate and I find myself writing about it again.

Natasha Thomas-Jackson's article in the award winning Alternet Online magazine revealed to me another layer to unpacking the complexities around contemporary feminism.

Natasha is an MC, spoken-word artist, wife, mother, and Executive Director of RAISE IT UP! and she uses a vlog by 9teen% - a dynamic 24 year old woman, outspoken professional youtuber - to back up her sentiments and frustrations on what she calls the 'ugly' side of feminism.

There are a couple of things about Natasha's critique of 9teen%'s youtube post that colour it as an emotional response to a bad experience she had at a feminist conference.

1) Why is it that Natasha automatically assumes that the women who looked at her with ridicule and disdain, because of of her dress choice, were either 'jealous' of her or that they could not help themselves because of an 'unconscious act of internalized sexism?
2) And why is it that the STYLE with which 9teen% opted to deliver valuable information is 'thought of as 'snarky, confrontational, biting, sarcastic, and ugly'? Harsh words. An alternative perspective would be 9teen% is passionate, wanting to stamp impact with character (snappy editing cuts and quirky gesturing).

What if the women at the conference had been just plain angry with how she was dressed, as they may have held the view of 'you're either with us or against us'. What ever way Natasha was dressed that day may have roused a frustration in those women that manifested itself in a fashion that made Natasha feel uncomfortable (angry?). Was she was on the receiving end of 'ANGER AND HURT IN PROCESS'? We know women ALSO have a lot to answer for in perpetuating elements of the patriarchal status quo, for example, over sexualized attire, anorexic looking fashion models, facilitating forced arranged marriages, female genital mutilation etc. Is her article over reactionary?

Natasha's response is on point in many areas, however, its intention appears rooted in a

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

I'm in perhaps the best veggie buffet in North London, chapel market - the popularIndian Veg Bhelpoori House - Chapel Market N1.I'm really hungry because all day I had been working with no breakfast or lunch. Its 6.30ish, so i come here, my regular north London oasis of healthy food.

Two girls walk in. They're tall, fashionable, young, fresh faced and skeletal. Now I don't mean skinny. I mean bones in Top Shop attire. It was almost like they weren't there. Only they were. They were like whispers, like unanticipated breezes on your neck in a still place.
I'm just finishing eating paneer and green pea curry, mixed veg curry, parathas, a couple of bahji's and salad. I went back for seconds. My plate is waxed. I sip my spiced masala tea, fiddle about on facebook on my phone for about 10 minutes relishing the full bellied afterglow of all-u-can-eat.

Meanwhile, the wraith-like girls have been up to the buffet bar to get food and I try not to stare because I began to feel empathetic pangs of hunger, light headed, a little nauseous. This look could not be right. Bones strained through their skinny jeans and tight cropped tops. This look was manufactured.
The pre-domninant thought that came to mind is 'anorexia'. But they're in an all you can eat buffet?! They get seconds, chit chat and giggle quietly, like every other girl should and I get over it.Its when I go to the ladies toilet that I see the remnant trails of vomit over the seat of one of the toilets....

"Its kinda hard to pee now." I thought. I did the math and anorexic bulimia flitted about in my head like a fat annoying slow flying blue bottle.
I felt half inclined to tell the proprietor of this restaurant, who in good faith is feeding people for £4.50 all they can eat, and there are two people in here taking the piss. Harsh I know. I know anorexia and bulimia are illnesses, but part of me can't help but be angry with those girls for their self-centredness. Addiction loves company and they were their validating each others affliction.
I was angry with their families for not paying enough attention to them, for letting this get out of hand. But addiction is sly, underhand, quick mouthed, brutally

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

And he puts his hands all over her sketched and written by Zena Edwards

there are days when being a woman is tide up
in the weight of her 'knowledge' of the 'way it is'
The status quo must be kept
so keep you body right and you mouth in check
be ready to be the object I select
from this day until the next
don't complain

Her man is poisoned against her
Just because he walks down the high road
without the blinkers
and she, bombarded with kilos and pounds
of sweet and salt constraints dressed up as
good-for-your-love-life home remedies
when the visual complexities wind their way though
her subtleties and feast on her insecurity

and she will grow fat
chained to counting the calories of her
compliant voice cramming itself
back down her throat to keep the peace
chaining her to a present, glutinous
with tricky accusations of her inadequacies
as the goal post of perfection shift again
while the 'rest' of the world grunts on

she will not fail you in bearing the future
but can she give birth to herself?
perpetually pregnant, bloated with doubt

you make her wait, you make her listen
to your loaded words
as you lay your hands all over her
with spikey adoration, careful now!
don't burst her

... you must first ask about her mother and listen carefully.

The more a daughter knows the details of her mother's life

- without flinching or whining -

the stronger the daughter. "

The Red Tent, Anita Diamante.

Taken on the trip looking for Mum's Mum, August 2009 - Cottles Church, Nevis.

Mum the photographer. She discovered a rampant creative streak when she retired. Nevis 2009.

After an invigorating hot air balloon ride Mum bought as a gift for my birthday. May 2009.

we touch silence

in awe of the horizons within

Mum likes to talk. She'll riff and freestyle a story rich with images loaded with a slow burn allegory. Deep within these stories are messages from her subconscious as she does not express in a direct way her intimate stuff, things that bother her or making her feel bad about herself. I almost have to be psychic with her. She'll ask questions, revealing little of herself. "It's not something we did in our house." she said. At times it was tough for me, especially around my teens, because I AM a talker. Frequently, it is crucial for me to talk to problem solve. I guess that's why I write. I have to have some kind of dialogue even if its with my Self on a blank page. But when Mum does choose to speak up around a problem (cos you can't make her), she'll drop a bomb.

I remember one time we were going somewhere and we had to come out of Charing Cross tube station and cross Trafalgars Square. A neo- nazi march had just finished and there were straggling skin heads walking about. I was 5 or 6. I could sense something in the air and Mum seemed a little... edgy. So we're walking and three skin heads were walking towards us. When they are level with us, one of them shouts right in Mum face, "NIGGAH! NIGGAH! NIGGAH!" I'm freaked. Mum's laughing. Probably a nervous laugh. More than likely a nervous laugh... But I remember looking up at her thinking she was crazy. Why wasn't she scared? With my 6 year old incredulity, I asked "Why are you laughing?!" Mum never even broke her stride and said looking down at me, " That's all you can do with these kind of people, Zeen. You can't take them seriously." Did she mean don't take them seriously or can't let them see you taking them seriously? Either way she was trying her best to break down racism to a six year old. As young and naive as she was bringing me up on my own, Mum's strength to cope in blizzard times would chime much later with me, as she had gathered techniques for surival everyday, day by day.

I chose to post this Dianne Reeves track with this blog because resonates in brilliant metaphor, reminding us that the survival techniques we have learned, acquired, adopted from others and adapted for ourselves have come from making the same mistakes over and over and over.... and over...It doesn't matter how old you get, there are still opportunities to learn. The First Five Chapters of my Life speaks well of my Mother and her journey through life, of the many life times she has had in one. Something I also learned. A resilience.

Friday, January 14, 2011

All too often we hear about young boys, particularly ones of African descent, not having father figures and going off the rails. We hear about them either ending up as fodder for jail, aimless wanderers with no idea how to behave as men and/or winding up being absent fathers themselves, with no sense of responsibility. Well guess what, sometimes those fatherless men end up with fatherless daughters because these women have no idea what it means to have an entity around the house being a father or a man either.

If there are no other male role models in their lives - friends, uncles and such - then the journey to knowing what a 'Man' looks like is distressing.
Men are NOT the same as women purely because of that macho patriarchal socialization, programming and training of what a man is supposed to be. Posturing Rap stars, magazines like FHM and bolshie arrogant banking city and media types have a lot to answer for. But even then I think that idea is a confused misnomer. Who knows what manhood looks like these days when men can buy calf, bicep and pec implants, have as many cosmetic products as women and expect women to pay their way out of spite for all the years they had to. Ok, maybe I'm being harsh there.

What I think is important though, is that there is a human responsibility to the nurturing of the future generations. Boy AND Girl children need good female and male ideals around them. Not perfect cos maybe that's too much to ask sometimes but they need people around them who are seen to at least be trying to do the right thing. Kids are smart. They can tell the difference when someone cares or not.

Little girls need to feel the vibration of a man's voice that loves them. Then they will know the sound of Love. They need to feel the embrace of a man that respects them. Then they will know the touch of Respect and Love. They need to see the silhouette of a man wishing them sweet dreams. Then they will know the shape of support for their dreams when they see it, the touch of respect when they feel it and the sound of Love when they hear it. No woman should suffer any form of abuse at the end of the fist or tongue of a man. It is unnecessary let alone wrong.

This poem is the for the father I have never known but who I love still for his absence. Part of my journey to finding out the true meaning of Womanhood has been through an unpredictable and rocky path to understanding Manhood.
Click, listen, read, immerse, enjoy. Peace. Z

If Daddy

daddy's gone

daddy's gone

daddy's gone

daddy's gone away

yes daddy's gone to stay gone

Was my existence braided on purpose

in to the journey of your mission bound spermatozoa?

where were they headed for real though?

meant for the long dark red of my mothers fallopian tube?

to her open womb?

where i unfurled into this life

a full thing with no name from my fathers side

just a black strike on my birth certificate

my fathers namelessness comes to me in dreams

or in the films of other peoples daddy’s

I’d turn my face ashamed of my dad

yes blindly ashamed and blissfully proud

I’d be comforted, reassured and strong with my daddy

as he carried my 3 foot high body, my head resting on his shoulder

while he strided like palm trees sway

but I'd also be angry and hateful toward my daddy,

grateful toward my daddy, cuss him out in my pillow,

wish he were dead and call him by his first name for a week,

my jaw stubborn as the karma of my life without him

I’d be dutiful daughter and kiss him sweet on the cheek at bedtime

I’d want to smack my own dad in the mouth

disobey his rules / come back 43 minutes after curfew and not apologise

I’d be his sugar dumpling, loyal and smiling,

I’d be full of love then I’d curse in front of him and back chat,

wear make up at thirteen and never bring my boyfriends home to meet him

I’d do all these things and more

just to test to my daddy

fling my arms around his neck and see if he’d forgive me

just to make sure,

I’d put my dad through hell

I’d do all these things and more

just to make sure

but where does the fire from all these impetuous tempestuous feelings go

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Names for the release of menstrual blood and for those who are a bit squeamish or easily offended , you have been warned - period, the rag, the code red, on the blob, Aunt Flo, the crimson wave, bloody mary, the curse, the devil's juice (eugh). Some talk about feminine sanitary items as vagina diapers, a blood hammock, a crotch bat, a dracula's tea bag - oh it gets worse!

Marcina's post me thinking about a book I've read called The Red Tent. I lent it to someone and never got it back but when I read the post, I ordered it off Amazon again (£1.50 used. Gotta love it). Anyhoo, the book is set in the biblical time of Pharaohs and is narrated by Dinah, a young woman of a nomadic tribe, daughter of Jacob (a daughter is Israel). She is supposedly raped by Shechem, son of Hamor (son of Egypt). The controversy that raged through the pages of this book after this occurance is whether she should be blamed for now being a fallen woman and or whether Dinah and Shechem were actually in love. There would be too much scandal if they were in love because that kind of inter-racial, inter class (him a prince, she a slave) activity back then was more than NOT COOL. Has much changed? The story ensues.... have a read if your interested.

However, THIS post is about monthly bleeding.

In the book, the 'Red Tent' is a physical place where the women of Dinah's family who would 'flow' in time with a new moon, sitting on a rag on some straw till their periods had finished. All their cycles peaked simultaneously and they would bleed together. They were that finely tuned with each other. and time in the Red Tent was quality time spent bonding with each other and communing with the cycle of the moon. They massaged each other, share "the escapades of their youth", "sagas of child birth", shared their knowledge and craft skills, their sexual antics and tips on surviving as women in that time. I was moved and intrigued how important a first period was back then. The focus on what it meant to become a fertile young woman wasevolution.

"Rachel bled her first blood, and cried with relief. Adah, Leah Zilpah sang the piercing, throaty song that announces birth, deaths and women's ripening. As the sun set on the new moon when all the women commenced bleeding, they rubbed hennah in Rachel's fingernails and on the soles of her feet. Her eyelids were painted yellow and they slid every bangle, gem, jewel onto her finger, toes, ankles, wrists.They covered her head with the finest embroidery and led her to the red tent. The sang songs to the Goddesses.......The women sang all the welcoming songs to her while Rachel ate dates honey and fine wheat-flour cake, made into the three-cornered shape of her sex. She drank as much sweet wine as she could hold. Adah rubbed her legs her back her abdomen with aromatic oils until she was nearly asleep... Rachel was stupid with the pleasure and wine."

Most of us might remember a clumsy sex education lesson, a vague or overly explicit description of what to expect (from those parents or guardians who tried too hard) - the embarrassmentat the insertion of a tampon or the thought of wearing that nappy you had to waddle down the street in. Body Form and Always and the wings thing was a blessing (except when you get the sticky bit burn). Now we have Moon Cups, Soft Cups and reusable sanitary napkins. The business of having a period has moved forward, but not the evolution into womanhood. That line has been well and truly blurred with the hyper-sexualization of young girls as young as 5 years old.

So what happened to that song and dance over coming into Womanhood? What happened to the pride over a girl child, your child becoming a vessel full of beauty and the potential of bringing ultimate Femininity to the world? And what happened to having a party that wasn't about getting drunk on your sixteenth? What happened to the blessed Rite Of Passage? Have our periods become so much of a bother to us that we've neglect to remember it's relevance to those yet to experience it? Have we forgotten the young girl in us who experienced it and the comfort we needed when that reddy smudge appeared for the first time in our panties? Could paying unprecedented attention to a girls first blood re-ignite a forgotten innocence? Could it place a revered importance on preserving that innocence in a world that sexualizes our girls at ludicrously young ages through music, fashion and advertising? The questions need to keep coming before we get too complacent and this hyper-sexualized state of being crystalises itself as 'normal'.

When Rachel, aged 12-ish, got her first blood she was relieved. She was a woman and most of the joy around her coming of age would
have been because now she was fertile and marriage would have followed
closely behind her ripening. Now-a-days the pressure of pre-teen marriage may not be such a pressure but that moment will only happen once and should be celebrated, the transition made less frightening and the welcoming of womanhood noted in the annuls of memory as a joyous occasion. An important sensual rite of passage.

What are your experiences of coming of age, your early experiences with your cycle? Post on the Forum Feminia .

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

This book entered my life at a point where I thought I was going to implode. As a woman of colour, I felt like there were elements - people and organisation structures - telling me that I must be crazy to think that what I dreamed for myself and my talents were possible - they were someone elses, not even meant for me. They were someone elses dreams. Yes, those dreams were, are big because I have expectations of my life. The biggest one being that I expect to lie on my death bed and say I have no regrets.

No regrets means imagining to your fullest potential and aiming as high as you please, right? Right.

Well, no actually. I had people telling me that I "was not there yet" or "are you sure you're ready for that yet?"

What I realized was that these voices translated into "who do you think you are?" and "You aren't good enough?" - I call that stomping on the dream before it got off the ground. Bob Marley put it well in his classic, "I Shot The Sheriff" -

Sheriff John Brown always hated me,
For what, I don't know:
Every time I plant a seed,
He said kill it before it grow -

He said kill them before they grow.

Not that these people hated me. Not at all. It was more a case of they themselves having low expectations of me, of what I could do and of what I wanted to do/become as an artist. I believe 89% of the time they didn't understand the subtext of their words.

It got me thinking how many times in my life I had heard, or shall we say subliminally felt the oppressive subversion of a teacher's/supervisor's/boss's/agent's utterances that seemed to tell me that I was not quite enough... Paranoid? I could have been. I was running myself ragged around the city, the globe even, trying to make money, make 'progress' in my art form as writer and poet, performing with just enough energy to stand-up and hold a mic. I have broken down on stage. Yes cried and said "i want to see my Mum" onstage. Me one and 250 people in the audience. In 2010, I felt that I had been moving laterally for about 3 years and no matter what avenue I turned down I felt blocked. Some blocks were overt - "At some point we all have to sell out", I was told once. Sometimes so subtle. I began to think, "Zee, really, you just ain't trying hard enough, try harder, work harder, try another angle different from the 29 others you've tried cos what you're doing is not enough, IT'S JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH!"

Wow... as you can imagine. I shocked myself. I had embraced the mantra, made it my own. I had accepted the voice of my oppressors.

"..it's frightening to acknowledge that I have internalize a racism and classism, where the object of oppression is not only someone outside of my skin, but someone inside my skin."

- Cherrie Moraga, This Bridge Called My Back.

"THIS BRIDGE CALLED MY BACK" came as a gift from above. I stumbled on it while browsing through Amazon, for what I can't remember now. But it spoke to a voice deep in the back of my wardrobe along with those dusty shoes and that frock that fell off the hanger 5 years ago, a voice tied up in a rough hemp sack, muffling "Believe what you know for sure. This stomping IS happening and YOU ARE MORE than what you have been told."

So invest in this book if you can. Its price on Amazon ranges from £15 for a used copy to £70 plus for a new AND used. Yeah I know. A bit Pricey. But that just tells us there's something of value between the pages of this book that the echelons of western academia might prefer we didn't know. Or at least its not going to make it easy for us to get our hands on. Try your library.

There are many references to Lesbian community. For some this might be a "problem". Whatever. More importantly, the writings were originally collated in the early 80's when women were making a stand against classism sexism, and the aggressive impact on womanhood during the economic boom. Independence financially and sexually was prevelant. Fundamentally this book is about women of colour sharing stories of overt and subtle sexism and racism, of coming into being and re-affirming each other. This book saved my sanity during a frustrating artistic/business life experience. It calmed me. Salvation just when it needed it.

WELCOME TO TRAVELLING LIGHT

This blog is an online exploration of neo-Womanhood. It is not meant to define but just examine what it means to be a woman in the 21st century and how we can protect the new woman that emerges from the rubble of eigthies power shoulder pads, nineties girl power mania and the noughties rise to Run the World, Girls!

Woven throughout this exploration is a story of a woman who was reunited with her own mother after 60 years of separation and how this motherless child had raised a girl child of her own, alone in 1970's and 80's Black Britain.

At times, this blog will seem disjointed, but click the 'Travelling Light' label and see the story unfold in poetry, autobiography, art and film.

Connecting the minds of the Feminine Element -Where in the world has this blog travelled?